


Cold Comfort

by rabidchild67



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Slash, cuddling for warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Monroe are trapped in Nick’s Jeep in a snowstorm. There is cuddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

Maybe if I just…

_Stay awake!_

My head snaps back as I nod off, not for the first time in this endless night. “Sorry,” I mutter to Monroe.

“You have to stay awake, Nick, no matter what. You promised.”

“What are you, 9?” I snit and I am immediately sorry. I extend my fingertips and press them against his sternum, as if the contact is an apology. For some reason, he seems to get that. He tightens his grip around me and I settle. I am surprisingly comfortable.

\----

“I can’t feel my feet.” Did I say that aloud?

“Do you mean you can’t feel them because they’re cold, or you can’t _feel_ them?”

“Is there a difference?” I am genuinely curious.

“Well, yeah,” Monroe says, and when I look up at the tremble in his voice, I see his eyes are darting around the interior of the car in a bit of a panic. He can’t look at me.

“I can wiggle my toes.” I think.

I also think Monroe thinks his sigh of relief has gone unnoticed. 

\----

_Stay awake!_

“Sorry!”

“How’s your head?” Monroe’s thumbing at the edges of the gash on my forehead. It’s been a searing, constant agony ever since we went off the road, and being reminded of it causes a fresh wave of nausea.

“Ouch,” I whisper.

Monroe sniffs at the wound and opens his mouth, but then pulls his face back, self-conscious, and looks away. I think the wolf in him wants to lick me. I had a German shepherd as a kid, I have seen that look. The eyes turned down at the outer edges, limpid. 

“Thanks,” I tell him. 

I look up and out from under his arm and I see that the windshield is now completely covered by snow. This blizzard is going to completely cover the car soon. Monroe, as usual, seems to be able to read my thoughts.

“They’ll find us. You’re a cop, they’ll be looking. They knew where you were going, right? When you don’t report in, they’ll come looking.”

“ Hank.”

“What about him?”

“He was pissed at me when we left.”

“You should have told him sooner.”

“Anyone who knows I’m a Grimm is in danger.”

“Anyone who knows you is in danger, Grimm.”

“Thanks, that makes me feel better.” 

“Ah, sarcasm. You’re not too far gone, then.”

How far can I go?

\----

“Jesus,” I say, but it comes out more like “Je-huh-huh-huh,” I am shivering so badly.

“Shit. Wait a second.” Monroe shifts away, sits up and shrugs his big frame out of his barn jacket. The absence of his warmth is like a punishment and I reach out my hand reflexively. He drapes the coat around the back of me and then resumes his position, arms around me, pulling the jacket in tighter.

“What about you?” I ask, not so much in protest but because I ought to say something.

“ _Blutbaden_ run hot,” he explains.

I don’t give him shit about it, but I don’t believe him. The shivering gradually subsides. 

_Stay awake!_

\----

“My aunt made the best hot chocolate,” I say. Where the hell did that come from?

“Oh yeah?”

“She used candy bars…you know the European ones? Toblerones? There would be this sludge of candy bits and nuts at the bottom of the mug.”

“Sounds, um, delicious,” Monroe answers, dubious.

“It is when you’re a kid. I don’t have her recipe.”

“We’ll figure it out. How hard can it be?”

“Sometimes, she’d stir it with a candy cane.”

“That’s gross.”

“No it wasn’t, it was good.”

Monroe shudders. He hates really sweet stuff; he only eats dark chocolate. Why do I know that?

\----

“They’re coming, right?”

“They’re coming, Nick.”

“Because this is a hell of a way to go out.”

“That won’t happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I won’t let it.” 

How can he be sure? Still, his voice is gentle and rumbly and confident and, dammit if I don’t believe him. How’s he do it? 

He pulls me in closer, rests his head over mine, and I feel the ghost of his breath against my ear. His lips are warm and soft against my temple.

\----

The deep, growling scrape of a snow plow wakes me. _Shit, I fell asleep!_ I was supposed to stay awake.

I notice the sun has come up, and I imagine the sky outside must be bright and blue, but the snow coats nearly every window. The plow’s flashing yellow lights dance outside, like fireflies.

I look up at Monroe. He’s fallen asleep. “They’re here,” I say, and he doesn’t move. “Monroe, they’re here, they came for us, you were right. Monroe? Hey, Monroe.”

I pull at his sweater, shake him, and still he doesn’t move. “Monroe, come on,” I say, fighting a rising tide of panic. I shake him harder, put both my arms into it, my knees. “Monroe!”

His breath explodes from him and his eyes open. “Shit, what? I’m up!”

I don’t know if a person can faint from relief, but I think I come close. I will admit it to no one. “Jesus Christ, Monroe,” I scold him, as if he’s at fault.

“Are they here?” he says, hearing the noises outside, peering around.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Told ya.”

“I’ll never doubt you again.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Heh. “I should go tell them you’re hurt.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You haven’t seen you. I’ll be right back.” He sits up, opens the back door and a curtain of snow falls inside with a soft _whoosh_. When he gets out, I see the snow drift is as high as his thigh. “Shit,” he mutters.

“Hey, Monroe!” I call after him. I sit up and hand him his coat. 

“Thanks,” he says, pulling it on. He wades through the snow to flag down the plow crew.

“No, thank _you_ ,” I say.

\----

“Ready to go?” Monroe asks from the door of my hospital room.

“Like you have no idea,” I tell him. One night in the hospital has been enough to dispel all pornographic fantasies of sexy nurses administering sensual sponge baths.

“You’re supposed to use this,” he says, indicating the wheelchair he has brought with him.

I’m still so wiped out I don’t even try to complain about it. Besides, there’s something about having Monroe squire me around that’s strangely pleasing to me. I file it under _to be thought about later_ and have a seat.

“Here,” he says and drops a silver Thermos into my lap.

“What’s that?”

“Disgustingly sweet hot chocolate,” he says, pushing me towards the elevators.

“Really? Thanks!”

He pushes the down button and I unscrew the cap on the Thermos, breathe in the fragrant steam. I’m instantly 7 again. “I’ll save it for later.”

Monroe’s yellow Beetle is waiting at the curb when we get outside, and he wheels me over, opens the door for me. “I can manage,” I say and he steps back.

“Sorry, I kind of got used to watching out for you.”

“Well, I’ll still need watching,” I reply, and he blushes. I grab his wrist before he can walk around to the driver’s side. “Thanks for everything. You saved my life, you know?”

“I uh…um…” 

I’ve never seen him at a loss for words before. _Flustered_ is a good look on him. I smile at him and he looks down, marches around to the driver’s side of the car and we get in. 

I’m not sure if something’s changed between us, but I find I like it. “What?” he says, a few minutes later, noticing me staring at him. 

“Nothing.”

“It’s impolite to stare.”

“Mmm, sure.” I shift to look out of the front of the car, but my eyes are still on him. His are on me. 

This could get interesting.

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
